


chicken soup & other love

by princesskay



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Caretaking, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23202820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: Holden collapses from a bout of pneumonia while on a consult in Alaska. Bill sets aside his own work responsibilities to pick him up and take him home.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Comments: 10
Kudos: 104





	chicken soup & other love

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to lowkeystandom on tumblr for the prompt: would love to see Bill tending to Holden when he's sick. Bill's nurturing and protective side kicking in

At first, Bill isn’t sure what had woken him. He jolts awake on the hotel bed, causing the discarded book lying open on his chest to tumble down into his lap. The television is playing an ad for a vacuum cleaner at low volume, strobing the darkened room with flashes of white, blue, and red. He hadn’t remembered drifting off, but the late November evening comes back into clear focus as the telephone ringing from the nightstand interrupts the silence. 

He’s in Detroit on consult for a string of random, brutal murders of several black men. They’ve been doing a lot of canvassing, and he’s particularly exhausted after a long day of trudging around the snow-laden streets talking to taxi drivers. 

Tossing aside the book, Bill rolls over to grab the receiver from the nightstand. 

“Hello?” He answers, rubbing his fingertips against his eyelids. 

“Hi, Bill. It’s Wendy.”

“Hey, Wendy.” Bill says, frowning and glancing at the clock. It’s almost ten o’clock. “Is something wrong?” 

“Yes, but I don’t want you to panic.”

“Panic? Why would I panic?” 

“It’s Holden.” 

Bill sits up, pushing his legs over the side of the bed. Any idea of sleep has fled his mind, replaced by a cold, gripping fear. 

“What’s wrong with him?” He asks. 

“We just got a call from the hospital in Anchorage. Apparently, he collapsed.” Wendy says, her tone calm and objective despite the frightening details. “They think it’s pneumonia.” 

“They think?” Bill echoes, climbing to his feet. “What does that mean? Is he stable?” 

“Yes, he’s going to be okay.” Wendy says, “I just wanted you to know because I’m sure he won’t call you on his own.”

“Jesus Christ.” Bill says, “I have to get up there.”

“You can’t do that.” Wendy says, “The case in Detroit is still ongoing, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, but I think they can handle a few days without me.” Bill says, “They’ve got the profile, the basic strategy-”

“Bill.”

“What?” 

“I said he’s going to be fine.” Wendy says, “The doctor in Anchorage was very clear about that.”

“He shouldn’t be traveling alone.” Bill says, “And if it really is pneumonia, then he should be home right now, not out in the middle of fucking nowhere.” 

“All right.” Wendy says, “It’s your call.”

“Give me the number of the hospital and Holden’s room.” Bill says, “I’m booking a flight for the morning.”

Wendy gives him the number, and admonishes him to travel safely. She’s disapproving, but underneath he can hear the note of relief. They both worry about Holden going on consult alone, but their workload since Atlanta has doubled. They can’t all be two places at once, so they’re forced to split up for out-of-state consults most of the time. This scenario had always been Bill’s worst fear, and now it’s coming true. 

Once he hangs up with Wendy, he dials the Anchorage hospital. Though it’s late, Holden answers the phone on the second ring. 

“Hello?”

“It’s me.” Bill says, feeling the tightness in his chest relax by some measure at the sound of Holden’s voice. “I can’t leave you alone for one second, can I?”

“Bill …” Holden begins with a sigh. “Who called you? Was it Ted? Wendy?”

“Yeah, Wendy called me.” Bill says, “Because she knew you wouldn’t.”

“Because you’ll just worry, and I’m going to be fine.”

“Fine.” Bill echoes, scoffing a sound of disbelief. “She said you collapsed.”

“I passed out.” Holden says, “But I didn’t hurt myself. I just needed fluids.”

“Christ.” Bill mutters. 

“See, you’re worrying.” 

“That’s right, I’m worrying.” Bill says, “And I’m coming up there tomorrow to get you.”

“Bill, no-”

“Uh-uh. I don’t want to hear it.” Bill interrupts, firmly. “If you’re sick, you’re not staying there. I’m taking you home so you can rest and get better.”

“But, the guy is still out there.” Holden says, “He could be doing it right now, Bill. And I-”

“ _ You  _ are sick. And you never know when to stop.” Bill says, “If this isn’t reaching your limit, then I don’t know what is.”

Silence stretches from the other end of the line for a long moment, and Bill is surprised that his remark had reached past Holden’s thick skull. Despite the truth of what he’s saying, he’d still expected a smart-ass retort. 

“So, that’s it.” Bill says, “I’m coming up to get you tomorrow. No questions asked. End of story.”

Holden sighs, softly. “Okay.” 

Bill lowers his head, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders unwind. Concern eclipses his frustration. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, softening his tone. 

“My chest hurts.” Holden replies, “I feel weak and I had a little bit of a cough, but other than that I had no idea … It wasn’t like I meant to be walking around with pneumonia-”

I know. It’s not your fault.” 

“The doctors said I could be released as early as tonight.” Holden says, “We’re waiting on the chest x-ray to confirm the diagnosis, but the treatment is mostly out-patient. Antibiotics and fluids and rest. He said as long as I’m doing those things I’ll be okay.” 

“I hear what you’re saying, but you can’t stay up there.” Bill says, “It’s too strenuous. That last one - rest - that’s important, Holden.”

“I know. I just feel bad that I’m leaving the local cops here in the middle of a bad situation.”

“It’s out of your hands, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Holden says, hardly sounding convinced. 

They talk for another ten minutes before hanging up. Bill sits down on the edge of his bed, and rubs his hands over his face. The panicked fear he’d felt when Wendy first called has eased after talking to Holden directly, but his chest is still tight with worry. He wishes he could be on a plane to Alaska tonight, but he’ll have to smooth things over with the Detroit PD chief tomorrow. 

Picking up the telephone again, Bill dials the number for the airport. In less than half an hour, he’s scheduled to fly out to Anchorage in the morning at 9:30, and that time can’t come soon enough. 

~

The frozen, Alaskan plain stretching out below could have been an enchanting sight, but Bill ignores the beauty of the unconquered landscape as the plane sinks down from the clouds towards the tarmac. 

Wendy had called before he left Detroit with an update. The doctor had decided to keep Holden overnight after the chest x-ray confirmed a serious case of pneumonia. Holden’s reassurances floated to the wind, leaving a gnawing worry in the back of Bill’s mind. He’d hastily spoken to the chief of police to let him know he was being called out of town for an emergency and would be back as quickly as he could manage. The man hadn’t been thrilled, but he hadn’t questioned the nature of the emergency any further, submitting to the authority of the FBI. 

Once the plane lands, Bill makes his way hurriedly through the airport, and out onto the sidewalk. The bitter, winter air gusts against the thin confines of his coat while he waves down a taxi. Everyone else around him is wearing weather-appropriate parkas, hats, and gloves. Bill mutters a curse. He’d thought the cold in Detroit was bad, but those temperatures had been nothing more than a primer for the sub-zero windchill bustling across the open, Alaskan wilderness. The harsh conditions only encourage his determination to get Holden back to Virginia as quickly as possible. 

At the hospital, Bill goes to the front desk to ask directions to Holden’s room. He has to ride the elevator up three floors, and walk what feels like a mile through the subdued hallways before he finds the room. 

Holden is reclined against the pillows while a nurse uses her stethoscope to listen to his lungs. He’s wearing an oxygen tube, a detail that he hadn’t been mentioned over the phone. His gaze wanders from the ceiling when Bill pauses in the doorway, waiting for the nurse to be done. 

“Your lungs are sounding a lot better.” The nurse says, putting the stethoscope around her neck. “Once I get the doctor to put the orders in, we should be able to release you.”

“Thank you.” Holden says, “Can my friend come in?” 

The nurse turns to acknowledge Bill with a smile. “Yes, of course. Come on in. Holden here has been a model patient.”

“Oh, really?” Bill asks, casting Holden a bemused glance. “Usually, he’s kind of a handful.”

Holden musters a glare, but his mouth is fighting a smile. 

The nurse chuckles. “I’ll let you two talk, but don’t worry - he’s going to be okay. I’ll go over all the in-home care instructions once I get the discharge orders.”

“Thanks.” Bill says. 

The nurse leaves the room, and Bill crosses the room to where Holden is shoving up against the pillows. 

“Well,” Bill says, “this seems familiar.”

“Bill, I’m really sorry about this.” Holden says, sitting upright and staring dejectedly at his lap. 

“Hey, I’m kidding.” Bill says, giving his arm a pat. “How are you feeling?” 

“Fine.” Holden says, reaching up to tug at the oxygen tube. “I don’t really need this. They made me put in on last night because I was having some shortness of breath.” 

“Leave it on for right now.” Bill chides, gently, swatting Holden’s hand back into his lap. “Wendy told me what the doctor said.”

“What’s that?” 

“That it was a pretty severe case.” Bill says, “A few more days and you really could have done some damage to yourself.”

“I know.” Holden whispers, scrubbing a hand through his hair. 

Bill leans against the edge of the bed, and crosses his arms. He discreetly watches Holden’s downturned expression. 

“It’s okay.” Bill says, “We’re gonna get you home, get you rested up.”

Holden nods. “I’ve asked the chief of police here to keep me updated on the case. I can work it from home. I’m allowed to do that, right?” 

Bill suppresses a wry smile. “Yeah, sure.” 

Holden sighs, and leans back against the pillows. “I still owe you from last time.”

“Holden, I’m way past that.” Bill says, reaching over to give his leg a pat. “We both are. Let’s just get through this, and move on.”

Fifteen minutes later, the nurse comes back to announce that the doctor had officially put in the discharge orders. By that time, the persistent worry in Bill’s chest had faded to cautious relief. Despite Holden’s crestfallen demeanor, he seems to already be on the road to recovery. Bill is relieved to see that the doctors here in the wilderness had taken good care of Holden, but he won’t entirely let go of his concern until he has Holden back home where he belongs. 

~

The hospital discharge takes half an hour, and it’s another twenty minute drive back to the airport. By the time the plane lands in Dulles, Holden feels on the verge of another collapse. His chest is hurting again, and the minor cough that the oxygen at the hospital had held at bay has turned into a painful, wet sound that draws stares from the other passengers.

Bill quietly, yet firmly grips Holden’s elbow as they exit the plane, and make their way down to the baggage claim. Holden sits down while they wait for the luggage to come down the carousel. 

Despite Bill and the doctor’s adamance that he should be at home resting, he still feels guilty for leaving the Anchorage police in a lurch. Their killer is a hunter, kidnapping prostitutes and taking them out into the wilderness to shoot them down like game. The details have been especially disturbing, a special brand of deviance they haven’t seen before. They’ve seen victims depersonalized in almost every way possible, but the depravity it takes to hunt people down like they aren’t even human is disconcertingly horrifying. It’s a case that requires everyone to put in their best work, and Holden is flying back home, driven down by something so routine yet serious. It’s not a panic attack that he can shove down and ignore. This isn’t some minor scrape, bump, or bruise. His lungs feel like they’re full of knives. 

Bill drags his suitcase off the carousel, and comes over to retrieve Holden from the bench. 

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, noting Holden’s pasty expression. 

“Yeah.” Holden whispers. 

“Come on. The faster we get you home the better.” Bill says, bending down to slip an arm under Holden’s elbow. 

Holden climbs to his feet, and clings to Bill’s arm as they walk slowly across the airport towards the exit. Outside, the chilly, Virginian air is a balmy relief compared to the bitter, icy cold of Alaska. Holden is faintly sweating underneath his winter coat as Bill piles him into the car, and straps him in. 

They stop off at the pharmacy for the prescriptions the doctor had given him. Bill purchases a bottle of water and a pack of cigarettes. The cigarettes he tucks in his pocket for later. The water he uncaps while he orders Holden to take the first tablet of Penicillin in the car. 

Holden swallows down the pill, and sinks down against the leather seat cover of Bill’s car. In the short trip from the pharmacy to his apartment, he almost falls asleep, his head dropping down towards his shoulder as his body deflates with exhaustion. 

Bill rouses him long enough to get him upstairs to his apartment, and deposits him in bed. Holden is vaguely aware of Bill removing his coat and shoes, but he can hardly cling onto the warm security of Bill’s hands tucking him underneath the covers. An exhale of relief escapes his lips before darkness falls behind his eyelids. 

~

Holden isn’t certain how long he’s been asleep for when his eyelids crack open to the fading bits of sunlight drifting past his blinds. The hazy half light suggests dusk, but it feels like days, or maybe years could have passed since they arrived home. 

Pushing up on his elbows, Holden cracks his eyelids open to peer around the room. The apartment is quiet though he can hear the distant chatter of the television from the living room. 

Holden sits upright, and tests his lungs with a slow inhale. The sharp tightness has eased, but it still hurts to inhale a full breath of air. Much to his relief, the overwhelming exhaustion has eased after the long nap. 

Crawling out of bed, Holden eases the bedroom door open, and shuffles down the hallway. The only light on in the living room is the corner lamp which casts a faint, yellow glow across the couch where Bill is slouched watching television. 

“You’re awake.” Bill says, leaning forward to quickly snuff out his cigarette in the ashtray. 

“Yeah.” Holden says, rubbing his eyes. “How long was I out for?” 

Bill checks his watch. “A little over four hours. Feel better?” 

“A thousand times.” Holden says, stifling a yawn. “You don’t have to stay here, you know.”

“You should have seen how peaked you looked getting off that plane.” Bill says, “You were white as a sheet.”

“I’m feeling a lot better.”

“Yeah, you’ve got some color in your cheeks again, but I’m good.” Bill says, “I’m not going back to Detroit for another two days just to be safe.”

Holden stills, his eyes widening. He’d forgotten entirely about Detroit. 

“Bill, you can’t do that.” He says, “They need you in that case.”

“It can wait.” Bill says, “They have the profile, the strategy, and my phone number. They can handle a few days without me.”

“But they shouldn’t have to.” Holden says, “I’ll be okay on my own.”

“Holden.” Bill says, somberly, rising from the couch to pin Holden with a firm gaze. “If I left you here on your own and you collapsed again, I wouldn’t forgive myself. So, you can just stop arguing right now because I’m not leaving.” 

Holden purses his lips, and lowers his head. On another day, if he didn’t feel so weak and terrible, he could have put up a fight. The two of them can find pretty much anything to nitpick at each other about, but deep inside, he knows he wouldn’t want to be here alone - and Bill is the only person he would want to witness just how exhausted he feels. 

“Good, I’m glad we agree.” Bill says, despite Holden’s silence. “You hungry?”

“A little.” 

“What do you have in your pantry?” 

“I don’t know. I think I have some soup.” Holden says, “I can go look.” 

“No.” Bill says, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. “You go back to bed. I’ll go look.”

“I’m not a total invalid.” Holden complains. “You don’t have to treat me like a child.”

“I’m treating you like you’re sick.” Bill says, “Like you collapsed from pneumonia and scared the shit out of all of us. Now go back to bed.” 

Holden wraps his arms around his middle, and tentatively peeks up at Bill’s determined eyes, musky blue in the dim lamplight. 

“I scared the shit out of you?” 

Bill’s jaw clenches, and his eyes flick away from Holden’s for half a second. “Yeah. You did, Holden.”

Holden purses his mouth against a smile. He turns, and walks back down the hall to the bedroom. Crawling underneath the sheets, he tucks his chin against the pillow, and gazes out the window at the sunset melting in faded purple across the sky. Though he’d rather smother the warm, pathetic eagerness oozing in his chest, he’s too tired to lie to himself and say he isn’t enjoying Bill being here to take care of him. They see each other, or at least talk on the phone practically every day, but that kind of attention isn’t the same. It’s professional, perfunctory; not doting in the way the past few hours have been, and Holden can’t deny how good it feels. 

A little while later, Bill carries a tray with the bowl of soup, a glass of water, and the Penicillin bottle into the bedroom. 

Holden sits up against the pillows, and carefully places the tray over his lap. 

“Thanks. This looks really good.”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s just Campbell’s.” Bill says, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him. “Take your antibiotic. You’re over your four hours in between doses.” 

“Yes, doctor.” Holden says, casting him a teasing smile. 

Bill’s mouth squirms against a smile, and he glances away with a shake of his head. 

Holden swallows down the tablet, and turns his attention to the bowl of chicken noodle soup. It’s hot, but just the right temperature to soothe the ache in the back of his throat from coughing. 

“You need anything else?” Bill asks, getting up from the bed. 

“No.” Holden says, running his spoon through the broth. “But you, um … you could stay here for a little bit.” 

He glances up to see Bill gazing down at him with his hands braced on his hips. Suddenly, Holden wonders if that’s asking too much when Bill has already sacrificed his whole day and work responsibilities to be here. He wonders if Nancy ever got this kind of treatment when she was sick. 

Before Holden can take it back, Bill sits down, and swings his legs up onto the bed. Settling back against the headboard beside Holden, he clasps his hands over his stomach. 

“Okay.” He says, “But just to make sure you eat all of your soup.”

“I will.” Holden says, “Aren’t you going to have anything?” 

“I made myself a sandwich while you were passed out.” 

“Oh.” Holden murmurs, staring into his soup. “So, um .. how long did you say you're staying?” 

“I have at least two days before I have to go back to Detroit.” 

Holden nods. “I hate to make you sleep on the couch for that long.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Holden takes a bite of his soup, and swallows down the soft, warm noodles. The warmth pools in his belly, right along some kind of yearning ache opening up beneath the prickle in his lungs. He never slows down until he’s forced to, and it’s been so long since he had a minute to just sit here beside Bill and think. Now he’s thinking too much, and he wonders if he’s conjuring conclusions out of thin air, out of gestures that are intended out of friendship and nothing more. Maybe he’s hoping for something else because this is all he has outside of work. 

He shoots a hesitant glance over his shoulder at Bill. “Thank you … for doing this.”

“You’re welcome.” Bill says, his gaze dense and gripping in the faded light of the bedroom. 

He looks at home right there in Holden’s bed, his shoulders broad against the headboard, his legs relaxed among the sheets. Holden realizes he’s never laid in this bed with anyone. When he and Debbie were dating, he was always over at her house because it was warm and inviting, cluttered and lived in, like a real home should be. He’s never laid beside someone on these sheets, let alone touched them. Suddenly, he wants to, more than anything - only he can’t. 

Holden finishes his soup in silence, and sets the tray on the nightstand. 

“I’m still thinking about Anchorage.” He says, clinging onto conversation about work since it’s the only other thing he can imagine to distract himself from his unwinding thoughts. 

“What about it?” Bill asks. 

Holden draws in a deep breath that makes his lungs pinch. He ignores it, and starts telling Bill in detail about the case. 

Bill offers his thoughts and theories, and their voices rumble back and forth in the dark until the sunlight is entirely gone from the sky. The conversation is typical, and it could have happened behind Bill’s desk at work, but the cold, cement walls of the BSU basement don’t have the touch of familiarity and longing that Holden’s bedroom does. It doesn’t carry the loneliness he’s ignored for so long. 

Finally, when their voices fall silent, Holden realizes Bill must be exhausted from looking after him all day long. In a matter of minutes, his breathing has fallen into a repetitive cadence of sleep, and he slumps down against the headboard. 

In the faint moonlight, Holden can see the outline of his face, his eyes shut, his mouth partially open in slumber. He’s completely disconnected from the world, lost in dreams, unaware. 

Holden rolls over closer to him, watching Bill’s sleeping expression closely. His chest feels taut again, though not from the moisture in his lungs. Nobody has taken care of him like this in a long time, perhaps not since his mother during times of childhood illness. Nobody has slipped into his bed, and not tried to touch him. No one else has tried so hard to protect him when he’s the most difficult person he knows to look after. He’s not sure if that means friendship, or something more to Bill. But he knows what it means to him. 

“I love you.” He whispers quietly into the darkness. 

It’s barely audible, a scraped sound, almost a whimper. Bill doesn’t stir. 

Sinking down against the pillows, Holden closes his eyes, and lets the darkness gradually take him under. He’s so tired again that the warmth radiating between their bodies is enough to have him rapidly falling asleep. He thinks that by morning, neither of them will remember his quiet admission already dissolving into the silence. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm [prinxcesskayy](https://prinxcesskayy.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr!  
> 


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